


Starvation and Protein

by ravenously



Category: Snowpiercer (2013)
Genre: Cannibalism, Gen, Kid Fic, hey look at curtis' internal fuckery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-17
Updated: 2014-05-17
Packaged: 2018-01-25 10:16:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1645109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenously/pseuds/ravenously
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They want him to eat protein bars now. It is not food. It is not satisfying. It is an insult to him and Edgar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Starvation and Protein

The black, squidgy bar in front of him jiggles slightly when Edgar pokes a pudgy finger at it, drawing up his tiny face- still too small, still too skinny- into a tight grimace, and he draws back, rocking back on his heels to look at Curtis. "Whassit?" He asks, high-pitched voice full of disgusted curiosity, the same type that Curtis can remember packs of boys in his childhood uttering whenever they found some dead animal or another. A grotesque sort of interest, the sort that hints that Edgar knows this is something disgusting, something not normal.

Something that shows that this is not _food,_ not after the meals they've gotten used to these past several months.

"They're protein bars. It's… Good for you, Edgar." Good for the body maybe, and Curtis has to hold back his own look of disgust because this is not _food_ , never will be. This is a block of nutrients the guards are trying to feed him and Edgar, like they are nothing more than packed cattle, nothing more than sheep, and if there's anything he's proven, it is that he is a _wolf_ , a _hunter_ , not prey.

The small boy pokes at the mass and watches it wiggle again, having to look up over the table at the motion. It would be funny, the way he seems wary of the bar if it weren't so damned tragic.

Most of the others at the back of the train have already embraced the gelatinous filth a little more than two weeks ago, but see, Curtis had been smart and kept _reserves_ , had kept whatever food he had for as long as he could, because to degrade himself and Edgar to this would be to give in. Give in to his circumstances and give in to the fucking dictator at the front of the train, and if he owes anything to the kid, it's that they have to keep strong as long as possible.

But now… He's run out, and he's starving because his last meal was three days ago, and Edgar's was almost a day ago.

Now that they have access to other food, now that he's been told in no terms to embrace the new source, if only for the kid's sake, Curtis is forced to give in.

"'S gross. Ew. Wan' steak." Edgar breaks Curtis from his thoughts, and the man looks down to the skinny boy, squinting through the darkness. They had enough candles, but he had begun to ration them after realizing they wouldn't last the year at the rate he had been using them, wouldn't last more than nine months. There are overhead lights, but they're so dim sometimes, at random times, that he can't rely on them.

He feels dizzy and weak, and he hasn't felt like that for a while, hasn't felt so _hungry_ in a long time (since he almost gutted the kid in front of him, since Gilliam made him fucking _stop_ ), and it tugs and pulls on his head at the same time rage coils in his empty gut, indignant fury at how he is being forced to bow down and bare his neck swimming into his every thought.

It's hard to keep focused and not yell at the kid. Gilliam had had a talk with him about that a week ago, and he's trying, _trying_ to reign in it, because he owes them that much, but it just isn't _fair_.

Noticing that Curtis has faded into his head again, Edgar bounces around the table and gently pokes a finger to the tip of Curtis' nose, trying to get him to the present. Curtis doesn't understand how the kid seems to know his moods, knows already how to handle his head after being with him for only two months, now.

"Hung'y." Edgar reminds Curtis again, voice cutting through his thoughts more than the tap on his nose ever would. Hunger in Edgar had become a sin in Curtis' mind, something worse even than the atrocities (because he knew, now, that they were atrocities, knew that he couldn't justify them, thanks to Gilliam's patient words) he's committed.

Doesn't understand how the kid still has so much energy when he hasn't eaten in a day and _fuck_ , Edgar had been talking to him.

Still doesn't understand how in the span of two months, Edgar has become his mode of morals, Gilliam the one that puts words to the feelings.

(See? He's learning. Curtis knows now that it was _wrong_ to have neutralized- _murder, it's murder, Curtis-_ one of his old mates for looking at the too-skinny Edgar the wrong way four weeks ago.)

Curtis doesn't let himself fall back into his thoughts, though. Much as he thinks he deserves it, he has a kid to care for, a kid who's petulant and hungry. "You have to. That's dinner." He says, and most definitely does _not_ sigh when Edgar pouts. He slips his woolen hat off to scratch at his newly-cropped head, the new bristly hairs itchy on his scalp, and pushes the bar closer to the toddler.

"No." Edgar announces firmly, watching Curtis with fire in his eyes and uncertainty in the pinch of lips.

"It's good." Curtis picks the bar up and tries to ignore how slippery it is, how revolting both the food and idea is, before he raises it to his mouth and takes a bite, chewing in a way that means he doesn't have to taste it as much.

Even so, it's disgusting. It's textured in an odd fashion and tastes vaguely of sulfur and burning, and it's only through sheer will-power (a will-power practiced lately to affect his face into the perfect expression, the perfect mockery of whatever he needs to be) that prevents him from spitting it out and instead swallowing. "See? It's good."

He sets the bar back onto the table, and Edgar all but scrabbles to try it, evidently needing Curtis to test it out for him first. Maybe because Curtis always inspected his food before he ate it, always made sure that it was nothing but quality meat (cutting away clumps of nerves and any discolorations and veins just in case every time) for the boy.

Curtis watches him take his own tiny bite, chewing and swallowing in contemplation before he pouts and grimaces, throwing the bar to the ground in a fit of impetuous, childish rage. The boy sits on the ground and cries up a litany of demands for better food _now,_ then announces, "You lied!" He accuses, and that throws Curtis for a punch, makes him blink in shock.

It's a waste of food, as disgusting and insulting as it is, and Edgar _knows_ better.

He has to take a deep breath before he does anything, still sitting so carefully on his perch, before he stands and picks up Edgar, the child immediately throwing up a raucous fit because Curtis is normally so gentle, so kind, and this is _unfair._ Curtis doesn't know what to think of that.

He eventually calms the boy enough for him to take another few bites of the bar, and forces him to go to bed (because if he isn't eating, then he should sleep, should save his energy until he can get him something) several hours early (with the promise of finding him a new book tomorrow).

He's settling in beside him, because Curtis does not leave the boy for himself, not when there are people who would do deplorable, hateful things, (not when there's the fear of freezing in the night, still) when the dozing boy murmurs, "Is Mummy c'ming soon? She'll like your cooking, Mister Cur'is."

The words chill Curtis to the bone and he just nods, mutely, and the toddler sighs in contentment, finally relaxing enough to fall asleep.

He's stiff and probably not a comfortable pillow- the boy thinks otherwise- and Curtis stares upwards blindly as he thinks and tries not to hear his heartbeat.

Curtis decides that one more week without protein blocks won't do him any harm. He'll find the kid someone- some _thing_ \- to eat tomorrow. Gilliam can fuck himself, as disapproving as the man will be. (He'll accept the ramifications after he can't see so many of Edgar's ribs)

Curtis does not sleep that night.


End file.
